Last entry in overseer's journal
28th Hematite, 1054
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The lower levels of the fortress are completely overrun by clowns. I have gathered all 57 dwarves who didn't perish in the original assault in the Dining Hall. Not that they stand a chance, not against these monstrous abominations. Counting our casualties.. strikes me with grief. When the miners accidentally pierced the so-called cotton candy, the clowns stormed in. When masons were ordered to seal the mining shafts, their response was: "ok, sure, but I'm gonna get some sleep first. Can't save a Fortress while tired can you?". Promptly after this, we lost a dozen or so dwarves before I forbid them from retrieving the dead and the injured. We locked the doors, but I don't think that'll stop them from coming in. The others don't, they still have faith in their massive doors that have withstood so much for so long, I pity these fools but I know that telling them the truth will only cause more dissent, riots have been breaking out over the last bits of food and barrels of booze.
I don't have much time left, already some are talking about fleeing the Fortress. We -I- cannot let this happen, we must stop this threat to the world now or die trying. For too long have we dwarves been ignorant to the suffering of others, but seeing the things that happened here recently has opened my eyes. For not only did we foolishly open that which should never be opened, we also slaughtered many innocents (humans, and elves as well) to gain the means to open it. Why is it that everything we dwarves do must lead to someone's death? Why is it we can't just get along with people, even if they act weird sometimes? Why must we always compete to build the deathliest contraption, design the most efficient execution chambers, and kill the most living beings? Not because we are biologically incapable of sympathy, but because we simply never care about what other people do! When I look at the forces gathered in the Hall I cannot help but feel sorry for them, these dwarves whose only crime was neglecting the crimes of others.
But all hope is not yet lost, in midst of the chaos I have discovered a child who still, despite the loss of his parents, has a pure heart. Though he is slow to trust others, he still made a friend in these most terrible circumstances. And when you can surprise him, he has this most unique laugh and I must say he is one of the most intelligent dwarves in our Fortress. His name is Lokum Etostgusil, "Lokum Containcopper" in human.
I am handing this journal over to him now, and giving him the last of the supplies we could save. After he has left the Fortress we will retract the great bridge and seal the Fortress. If you read this, please take good care of him, and make sure that the sacrifice of the dwarves of Erushbetan, "Handlecalm" will not be in vain. "Handlecalm", what a fitting name for even though I know my death is approaching my hands are calm. If you ever meet someone else from our civilization, Erush Othôs "The Handle of Wilts", tell them... we dug too deep.
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This journal was found next to the mangled body of a dwarven child. The marks of wolf teeth are still vaguely visible. The cover of the journal reads: The Humid Rags
Five days after discovering the journal, 7 dwarves left to search for Handleclaim so they could build a bone tower to throw elves at clowns.